


Ratted Out

by McSpot



Series: Rats R Us [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Animal Transformation, Calgary Flames, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, so seriously it stops being crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 04:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McSpot/pseuds/McSpot
Summary: “My dad used to throw me in the trash all the time,” Matt declared to the dressing room at large one day after practice.Or, an ode to the Rat King, and how Johnny Hockey learns to love the rat.





	Ratted Out

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posed on my Tumblr across multiple posts. Zero editing because the typos are a feature not a bug in a fic like this and also because I don't edit. Thank you to all of the people who saw the first part of this and said, yes. This is what the world needs more of. Because apparently, this is all I know how to write now. And of course, pinkrhinoceros shares the blame for this mistake.

"My dad used to throw me in the trash all the time," Matt declared to the dressing room at large one day after practice.

While the team was fairly used to just about any bizarre thing that could possibly come out of Matt's mouth, that one was enough to stop everyone short. Especially because Matt had rather cavalierly tossed it into a fairly serious conversation about a news story of a baby who had been found crying in a dumpster.

"Um, what?" TJ succinctly summed up what everyone was thinking.

Matt rolled his eyes, which was indeed very _Matt_ of him.

"You guys are making such a big deal of it, like everyone doesn't get dumped in the trash as a baby. My dad tossed me in the trash plenty of times, and I'm fine!"

The amount of "fine" that Matt constituted as really was in the eye of the beholder, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

"Uh...did your mom know about that?" Hammer asked, probably because it seemed like the right thing to ask.

Matt nodded, still pulling off his pads like this was all very normal. "Of course she did. She didn't really agree with it though."

Everyone's shoulders started to relax, up until Matt added, "She would have preferred that he just kind of laid me in the trash, a little more gently, y'know? But Dad always said that I had to learn to get my feet under me fast if someone was going to be kicking me around, so he just chucked me in there. He was a lot nicer about it with Brady..."

"And...why did they put you in the trash?" Gio's voice was careful in the way it got when he was trying to be a diplomatic captain but also thought whatever someone was saying was absolutely insane.

Matt snorted and gave Gio a look as if he were the strange one here. "Garbage is life, man. You live in it, you sleep in it, you eat it – everyone's got to get used to garbage eventually."

If this were anyone else, one might think that Matt was either extremely philosophical, or extremely high.

But it was Matt, and they all had the sudden, sinking suspicion that he was entirely sincere.

"Matt," Gio began, "Does your family spend a lot of time in garbage?"

The look Matt gave him expressed that he believed Gio was being particularly slow today. "Of course we do; we're rats."

Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief and went back to what they'd been doing. Everyone, that is, except for Johnny.

Matt made rat comments all the time, comments about being a rat, about living as a rat. It was generally assumed that he liked to take the whole "rat king" thing a bit too far, except he was incredibly serious about it and seemed to get offended if anyone questioned him on it.

At this point, insisting he'd grown up in a pile of garbage was mildly concerning, but in the context of the rat thing, it was pretty much par for the course.

After all, it couldn't be any weirder than the time that he'd told everyone that he didn't like to shave because it felt like cutting off his whiskers. Or when someone had told him his hair looked like a rat's nest and he'd beamed with pride. Or that time he told them all that his father wanted to eat him as a child but his mother wouldn't let him.

That one had been really concerning.

For the most part the team was used to Matt's eccentricities by now, even if he surprised them once in a while. Nobody was under any illusions about who Keith Tkachuk's favored children had been. Once when he was super drunk, Hanny had suggested that maybe this was all some sort of bizarre coping mechanism that Matt used to deal with a rough childhood.

Johnny wouldn't entirely discount that possibility. But if the stuff Matt said about his family had even a kernel of truth to it, that would be pretty concerning for Johnny, not just for Matt's sake but because Johnny happened to be dating Matt's cousin and had been since college.

And Kevin maybe had...some quirky behaviors. Which were usually fine! Everybody had their own weird things.

Except in the context of _Matt's_ weird things, and his family's weird things, that maybe made Kevin's weird things more weird than usual-weird.

Which was weird.

And concerning.

"Kev," Johnny began slowly that night over FaceTime. "I know you're not like, super close to Matt's family or anything, because you're like, second or third cousins and you didn't live near each other but he's like...said some stuff, about his family. That's a little weird if it's true."

Johnny liked to think that he was pretty good at reading Kevin's face, after all this time. He was a pretty big fan of Kevin's face. It was a good face.

It was a face that was currently trying to hide something and doing a poor job of it.

"Kev..."

Kevin's voice was as close as it ever got to a yelp, thin and wavering. "What? There's not – what do you mean by weird?"

Johnny settled back against his headboard and sighed. "Like, he told us that his parents threw him in garbage piles and he acts like it's normal. I know he's super into promoting that whole rat-image thing but it's kind of strange, y'know? And so some of the guys were saying maybe he's like, trying to process weird childhood trauma? Like maybe he's going through some shit. Because if you call him out on the rat stuff he just doubles down on it like he really believes it and the joke is a little old. So I was like, wondering if maybe you'd heard some stuff, about what his family was like."

He left out the bit about Kevin's own behavior for now. That could wait until Kevin didn't look so shifty and awkward, the way he had in Johnny's sophomore year when he didn't want to admit that all of their videogame nights were actually supposed to be dates.

From the way Kevin's eyes were bugging out of his head, he apparently wasn't even trying to hide how freaked out he was anymore.

"The – the rat thing? _He told you?_"

Johnny hadn't known his voice could get that high outside of sex.

"Uh, yeah? You have to know about that, he's been crowing about being the rat king for years, he's so proud of it. His brother came up in that t-shirt during the playoffs last year and he was so smug, it was super obnoxious. That's why he says his parents put him in garbage, because apparently they're all rats now."

If Kevin had laughed or rolled his eyes, Johnny would have assumed it was just a Dumb Matt Thing. Johnny was _expecting_ that it would be a Dumb Matt Thing.

By the way Kevin's face had just gone pale and he looked like he was choking on air, it was most definitely _not_ a Dumb Matt Thing.

"Kev? They didn't actually do something to him, right?"

"Um." Kevin's voice was strained and too loud even through the speaker on Johnny's iPad. "I mean. No?"

He was wincing like he was waiting for a bomb to explode, which frankly, Johnny found a little unfair.

"Dude. You can't say it like that and then expect me not to ask what happened."

Kevin rubbed a hand over his neck and looked back over his shoulder, even though the only thing behind him was his own empty bedroom. It was one of his most patented stall tactics and had been for as long as Johnny had known him.

"Babe. Maybe this is something we shouldn't be talking about right now. How about we table this until the next time we see each other in person-"

"What the fuck, no, I am not _tabling_ this now that you're being all shady – and who the hell says _tabling_ anyway, are you hanging around your GM?"

Maybe it was a little uncharitable of Johnny when Kevin was so clearly uncomfortable, but they wouldn't be playing each other for a month, and Johnny would really rather spend what little time they had together fucking Kevin's brains out and not having difficult heart-to-hearts about Matty's potentially traumatic past.

"John," Kevin said desperately, eyes miserable and pleading.

And that – that was a big warning sign, because nobody called him John, ever, and certainly not Kevin. Fifty percent of the time Kevin referred to him by any manner of nicknames instead of his actual name, but the last time Kevin had called him John, it was to tell him that somebody had died.

It was almost enough for Johnny to drop the whole thing. And that was part of the problem, because Kevin knew that.

"Kev, you're scaring me now. What the fuck is going on that's so bad you can't tell me? _Me_?"

Maybe it stung, just a little bit, that whatever this was, Kevin didn't want to trust him with it. But they'd been together for so long, and their relationship had stayed so solid despite spending the past five years on opposite ends of the continent. Johnny couldn't imagine what could be so bad that Kevin would try to keep it from him.

Kevin winced and looked down at his lap, still rubbing his neck.

"It's not...it's not just – a thing with Matt. It's kind of. Uh. More of a...family thing?" His voice ended high, turning it into a question.

Johnny blinked.

"Are you saying that your parents put you in the trash too?"

He couldn't picture it. Kevin's parents were great – his whole family was, the part that Johnny had met. They were basically Johnny's family too, at this point. Everyone was so affectionate and kind, he couldn't imagine his parents doing something awful and bizarre like that.

Then again, for as much as Keith Tkachuk didn't seem to care for Matt, Johnny couldn't imagine him putting his son in garbage either.

He wasn't prepared for Kevin to flush and avoid the camera even farther, only looking up with fleeting glances. Johnny wished so dearly in that moment that they were in the same place so he could climb into Kevin's lap and put his hands on his face and tilt his head up, rub little circles over his cheeks with his thumbs and whisper that there was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing he couldn't tell Johnny.

Of course, that would have required waiting another month, and well.

Johnny didn't have the patience for that.

Kevin's voice was a little muffled because he was still staring at his lap when he said, "It's not what it sounds like. It's not – if you have the full story it makes sense."

Johnny also wasn't prepared for that.

"Putting a baby in the trash makes sense?"

"That's not what it is!" Kevin all but moaned, hands coming up to half-cover his red face. "I mean – it _is_ but it's like – it's cultural!"

"Okay but like _how_ in the fuck would that be-"

"It's normal for rats!"

Johnny slumped back against the headboard, momentarily surprised.

"Um. Okay. Sure. But, like...so does your whole extended family do the weird rat joke then or...?"

It was super weird, because he'd never heard Kevin do it before, but maybe he was embarrassed? Johnny would certainly find it embarrassing if his whole family had some weird in-joke about being rats. He could only imagine what the family reunion t-shirts would look like.

"It's not a joke," Kevin said quietly. He dragged his hands from his face and sighed, finally looking back into the camera properly.

"...It's not."

He watched as Kevin grimaced and swallowed, shifting his shoulders like he was steeling himself, bracing for impact.

"It's...it's who we are. We're...rats."

"...Like...pack rats? Or..."

"Rats have colonies," Kevin said with far too much sincerity for Johnny to chirp him for the correction. "And I mean that we're actual rats. All of us."

_Oh_, Johnny silently mouthed. He bit his lip, nodding a couple of times as he looked away.

Jimmy was still back in Boston right now, so if Johnny called him and told him he needed to come check on his brother immediately, it wouldn't be that hard for him to get down to Philly. Because Kevin looked way too miserable to be fucking with him, which could only suggest that he thought this was real, which meant that he probably needed to be seeing a doctor sooner rather than later and he likely wouldn't be in the mood to see one just because Johnny asked.

Unless, of course, Jimmy bought into this whole thing too like Matt did. If it really _was_ some giant bizarre family thing – one that spanned generations to reach extended relatives – then Jimmy wouldn't be much help. Maybe Johnny could get a hold of one of his teammates?

But, if this was something Kevin had believed the whole time they knew each other, then maybe he'd been crazy this whole time. Unless there wasn't something diagnosably wrong with him and his whole family just had creepy beliefs and rituals involving child abuse. If it was the latter, this probably wouldn't bode well for their relationship, because Johnny wanted to have kids one day but not if their potential other-dad was going to be catapulting them into a dumpster.

"Please say something." Kevin's voice was nearly a whimper, quiet and despondent and cracking in the middle.

Johnny had no idea what he _could_ say.

"When you say 'rat' you mean like...like a rodent-rat. Like with a tail and fur. Like...you think that _you're_ a tiny furry animal. That kind of rat."

"I'm not actually that small." Kevin was rubbing the back of his neck again. "Me and Jimmy are more like the size of an average cat. I think the Tkachuk boys are more in the normal range but I haven't seen them in a while."

Oh, shit.

"Kevin," Johnny said as calmly as possible, "You're nearly six and a half feet tall. How big do you think rats get?"

For some reason it felt like maybe if he could get Kevin thinking of one thing logically, he'd snap out of all of this and they could laugh about it later.

Kevin flushed again and winced. "Not like – I know I'm a human _now_, Johnny, God. I'm not crazy." He looked up, startled, and added, "I swear I'm not crazy. It'll make sense, I promise. We're like...we can turn into rats? Sometimes?"

"...You're telling me that you're a were-rat."

"Don't say that," Kevin moaned, making a face. "That's so – it's not like that. It's just that sometimes we can turn into rats, and we have some, like, rat-instincts. It's not a big deal, I swear, I'm still the same person I've always been."

"Oh, yeah. No, yeah, for sure." Johnny nodded fervently, eyes wide, brain going a mile a minute.

Kevin thought he was a rat-man. And, apparently, the whole family thought they were rats. Made of rats? Fuck, he didn't even know. What was a good way to respond to your boyfriend declaring he was literal vermin? Probably not this.

He could see Kevin's face fall by the second. "You don't believe me."

"What? I didn't say that, I totally...believe..." Johnny trailed off into what could best be described as a distressed wince. "Fuck, babe, I have no idea, this is..."

He wasn't expecting Kevin to scramble to his feet, the camera tilting rapidly as he dumped his laptop on his bed and, apparently, started stripping.

"Look, I'll prove it to you."

Under normal circumstances Johnny loved to see Kevin strip on camera. In fact, he'd been hoping to see that happen tonight.

But Kevin was stripping so that he could prove he was a were-rat, and absolutely nothing about that was sexy.

"Kev, what the fuck, man, please don't-"

His words went unheard as Kevin finished stripping and climbed back on the bed, propping his laptop so that it was now against the headboard, facing down the bed at his naked body.

"I'm gonna show you," Kevin said with the type of grim determination that Johnny usually found attractive instead of petrifying. "Just – I'm gonna show you, and then it will make sense, okay?"

Johnny was a little terrified of seeing what Kevin wanted to show him, but that didn't seem to make a difference to Kevin.

He was about to protest again – tell Kevin to knock it off, tell him he had to see a doctor, tell him that maybe they needed to rethink their relationship because if this was something Kevin wasn't willing to negotiate then they were absolutely not going to work out – when Kevin's body started to twitch and move and twist and _shrink_, and seconds later there was what appeared to be a ten pound rat in his place.

In retrospect it wasn't Johnny's proudest moment, but he felt like anybody who knew him would expect that level of hysteria from him when presented with something scary and unexpected.

The screaming, he felt, couldn't be helped. Though he probably could have done without throwing his iPad across the room and shattering the screen.

Rat-Kevin couldn't answer a phone call to say if he was okay, after all.

~~~

Johnny still tried to call Kevin immediately, but it went to voicemail. He wasn't sure how long Kevin would stay a – a rat, but maybe he couldn't turn back right away.

Turn back into a human. Because Kevin wasn't human right now. Because he was a, a rat. A rat-person. A were-rat.

Johnny's boyfriend of nearly eight years had just turned into a rat. An extremely large rat, the type that would make international headlines just because people around the world liked to be grossed out by freakishly oversized rodents. Rat-Kevin was approximately the size of a housecat, and not a tiny one. Which kind of made sense, because Kevin was a really big guy.

Except it didn't make sense because _Kevin was a fucking rat_.

He called Kevin's phone; voicemail again.

_Please call me_, he texted Kevin, spelling out the words and everything so Kevin knew he was serious.

After a moment, he added, _when you can_.

Because he wouldn't want to be insensitive about the – the rat thing.

The thing where Kevin was a rat.

Oh, fuck, he couldn't stop thinking about it, like it was a fucking gif, just that three-second clip of Kevin's body shrinking and twisting, reforming into a large rodent. It would have been fascinating from a scientific standpoint if it hadn't been so disgusting and also horrifying.

Kevin was a rat, and according to him had always been a rat for as long as they'd known each other, and his whole family was made up of rats, and he'd never told Johnny because-

Well. Probably because he'd thought Johnny would react like this.

Shame coursed down his spine, burning hot and red up his neck and over his cheeks. He had a right to be shocked, he told himself – anyone would have been shocked!

But Kevin had also been afraid of telling Johnny because he'd thought Johnny wouldn't take it well. He'd thought Johnny would be...scared, and disgusted.

Which he had been. Which he'd made all too clear by shrieking and breaking his iPad, which was going to be so annoying to replace.

Fuck, but Kevin had _begged_ him, hadn't he? He'd called him _John_. He'd asked not to do this right now, not when they were so far away, because he'd wanted to do it on his own terms, where he could control it.

Where he could try to keep Johnny calm, and fix things if Johnny freaked out, because he knew Johnny better than anyone, and he'd guessed correctly that Johnny would lose his shit. Johnny could barely handle movies that were described as "thrillers," there was no way he'd take it well when his boyfriend morphed into a rat.

He called Kevin again. It rang through to voicemail.

At least he wasn't ignoring the calls?

Maybe he couldn't swipe the button, with his little rat paws.

Oh, God, his boyfriend was a rat.

Johnny sat upright from where he'd sprawled across his bed to better experience his despair.

He knew someone else who was a rat.

Matt answered on the fourth ring. For a moment Johnny worried that he'd woken Matt up, until he heard the sound of Matt loudly chewing and remembered that this was Matt he was talking about. He was probably just getting his night started.

He was a rat too, after all.

"Do we call each other now?" Matt asked, mouth audibly full.

"You're a rat," Johnny said.

"Yes."

Johnny didn't know why he'd expected Matt to deny it, seeing as Matt had been proudly declaring it from the rooftops since he'd joined the team.

"You're a _rat_. Like, a _rat_-rat, like – whiskers and a tail and you...literally run around in garbage _oh my God_."

Everything made a horrible, awful type of sense in that moment, and all Johnny could do was wonder, _does Kevin hang out in garbage too?_

Matt made some sort of disgusting sound like he was laughing and swallowing at the same time. Naturally, he didn't choke, because Matt was pretty much a black hole for food anyways.

Like a rat.

_Oh God_.

"That's literally what I've been saying this entire time! Like, every day, I tell you guys I'm a rat."

"We thought it was a metaphor!" Johnny yelped. "Like when people call Brad Marchand a rat, they don't actually mean – _oh my God is Brad Marchand a rat_?"

He swore he could hear Matt sniff delicately, which was the sort of thing that nobody would ever expect or want to hear from Matthew Tkachuk. "He wishes. But seriously, since when do _I_ use like, fucking metaphors or whatever? I've been straight-up telling you guys all along, it's not my fault none of you listen."

Johnny would normally admit that Matt had a point, except his point was _fucking insane_ and also _everyone he knew was a rodent_.

"But you don't – a rat! The, the turning, morphing into a rat thing, you never do that!"

Matt scoffed. "Who says I don't? Just because I don't do it in front of you doesn't mean I don't do it. Besides, you of all people shouldn't be so surprised. Doesn't Kevin shift and like, make you scratch his stomach or something every time you see him anyways?"

Never before in his life could Johnny say he'd had an opportunity to visualize what petting a rat's stomach might feel like, but if he ever were to try it, he probably wouldn't have imagined himself scratching the furry tummy of his cat-sized rat-boyfriend.

Admittedly, he'd definitely ran his hands through the normal-human-man-hair on Kevin's stomach more than a few times, usually on the way down to take his pants off or when he was feeling cuddly after sex, but never once had he compared it to giving tummy rubs _to a rat_.

Apparently his silence was damning enough that even Matthew Tkachuk could pick up on it.

"Ooooh _shit_, did he never tell you? Like, for real? Dude, you guys are like basically married, that's kinda messed up. So he never like, brought you his best finds or anything?"

The worst part was that Matt sounded both incredibly interested and also pitying.

"His _what_?"

"You know, when you pick through the garbage for all the best bits and then you bring it to the person you love to show them that you can like, forage for the family, and that you're putting them before you and all that romantic shit. Come on, he's never gone dumpster diving for you? I thought he loved you!"

Now Matt sounded offended on his behalf.

Distantly, Johnny wondered if perhaps he should be offended too. He certainly couldn't recall a time that Kevin had ever presented him with his favorite garbage.

Then again, he probably knew that Johnny wouldn't really be flattered to receive like, a rotten apple core or week-old Chinese take-out or whatever were-rats considered to be the choicest pieces of premium garbage.

Matt was on a roll now. "He's boxed for you, right? Had to, I mean, you're kinda scrawny for my tastes but there's had to be someone's ass he's had to bite for you before."

The only ass Kevin had ever bitten, to Johnny's knowledge, was Johnny's own, and he was kind of concerned that Kevin might be running around biting other asses behind his back.

He just barely kept from complaining about the scrawny comment, just because he thought it was at least a good thing that his boyfriend's cousin wasn't into him. And besides, the one person whose opinion he did care about was able to hold him up and fuck him while standing, so the scrawny thing kind of worked out.

...Just like how Johnny could probably carry Kevin _when he was a rat oh God_-

"At _least_ tell me that the shithead makes you nests," Matt was saying when Johnny clued back in.

"Yes!" Johnny's mouth moved without his permission, latching on to that idea. After all, Kevin did make nests, of a sort.

The less-weird ones were on his bed or couch, where he'd use blankets and pillows, and maybe a few sweatshirts but Johnny hadn't thought too much about it before. He'd thought it was cute, especially back in college, when Kevin would invite him to sit on his bed in his mound of fabric and Johnny could just pull one of the sweatshirts on when he was cold. And then as they finally decided they were actually dating, Kevin would sometimes pull Johnny's clothes into the pile too, and oh hell that was probably some sort of weird scent thing, wasn't it?

But that was quirky. That was sweet, curling up together in his giant pillow-fort and watching Netflix until they fell asleep.

Now, looking back, all Johnny could think about was how Kevin always had piles of clothes on his floor. Nothing huge, probably the size of an average pillow, but he would have piles of clothes, often mixed up with some old pieces of paper, newspaper from God-knows-where and lined loose-leaf from a notebook, and little grey balls of _fucking dryer lint holy fuck_.

Kevin was the only guy Johnny knew who actually emptied the lint trap when he did laundry. In college he used to go down the whole row of dryers in their dorm basement and empty all of the lint traps and Johnny thought it was so responsible of him to remember that a full lint trap was a fire hazard but then sometimes he'd see Kevin bring the giant lint ball he'd formed to his face and kind of like, rub it against his face.

And smell it. He liked to smell it.

"He likes lint," Johnny said blankly.

Matt made a muffled, approving sound. Apparently he was eating again. "Oh, _fuck_ yeah, lint is awesome. Does he give you lint? I take it back, it is true love."

All Johnny could think about was how when he said goodbye to Kevin before leaving for Calgary, just before going out the door, Kevin had pulled him close, slipped his hands into Johnny's back pockets, and kissed him until Johnny was more than willing to miss his flight. And how later that night, when Johnny was getting ready for bed in Calgary, he'd found fistfuls of lint in his pockets.

He'd just thought his dryer must have been acting up.

"I don't understand any of this," he whispered. He wasn't going to cry, but part of him felt like maybe it would help. It certainly couldn't make things worse.

He must have sounded rough, because Matt actually swallowed whatever he was chewing before asking, "Did he really never tell you? After all this time?"

Johnny shook his head, realizing belatedly that it wasn't helpful. He dragged his free hand through his hair, snagging on a few tangled curls as he got up and started to pace his bedroom.

"Just now, he did. I kind of...pushed him into it. And he – did the rat thing. On FaceTime, to prove it to me. He turned into a rat."

"Technically we're always rats," Matt interjected, "It's just that sometimes we're in human bodies."

That asked far more questions than it answered, questions that Johnny didn't even want to begin considering.

"Okay, well he turned into a giant furry rat with a tail and shit, and I freaked out and broke my iPad and now he won't answer my calls and I need to know if he's like, trapped as a rat now and that's why he's not answering."

Even just recounting it, he could feel his heart start to beat faster, anxiety rising in his throat.

Matt's laughter wasn't helping matters.

"Oh, shit, you guys are a perfect match. Fucking dramatic, both of you." He kept talking right over Johnny's noise of outrage and beginnings of a protest. "Look, he's fine. Physically, anyways. We can shift our skins whenever we want, there's no, like, moon phases or time limits necessary or whatever. If he's not answering he's just being sulky."

That should have made Johnny feel better. It meant Kevin was safe.

It also meant that Kevin was fully capable of at least shooting him a text saying that he was fine and he didn't want to talk right now, but he didn't do that because he was avoiding Johnny. Avoiding him when they already currently lived over two thousand miles away from each other and saw each other a handful of times a year.

Johnny's boyfriend turned into a rat, Johnny freaked out, and now his rat-boyfriend was avoiding him, all in one night.

This boded well for the future of their relationship.

"Look, just sleep it off, he'll get over it, and you can talk it over in the morning," Matt said.

Oh, good. Now Johnny was getting relationship advice from a Tkachuk.

He hadn't really thought that things could get worse tonight, but his boyfriend's family really was just full of surprises.

Rodent-based garbage-filled surprises.

Oh, God.

Johnny tugged at his hair again, enough to feel the sting when his fingers hit knots. Hissing in frustration and feeling uncharacteristically testy, he said, "Not that I don't trust your relationship advice, Chucky, it's just that I think you have to actually _be_ in a relationship to pass out advice."

Matt snorted obnoxiously. "Hey, I'm just saying, that's what I do when my boyfriend gets pissed off at me. Give him time to calm down, call him in the morning to talk about it, send him a little something special you've been saving for the next time he gets pissed off at you – it's always worked for me."

On a normal day, Johnny would have been stuck on the fact that Matt had effectively not just come out to him when everyone on the team thought he was overwhelmingly straight, but also admitted to being in some form of a committed relationship.

But today wasn't a normal day, and so instead Johnny said in a desperate, miserable voice, "The 'something special' is garbage, isn't it. You send him garbage."

"You know, in our culture something like week-old pizza is seen as a _delicacy_. Pizza rat was a fucking _hero-_"

"Thank you Matty I need to go now, have a good night." Johnny hung up immediately, unsure he could take any further visuals of Matthew Tkachuk lovingly packaging up stale, possibly-moldering pizza and mailing it to his boyfriend as an apology gift.

Not when it was accompanied with anxiety about how he had never once received stale or rancid food items from Kevin when apparently that was how his "culture" expressed love.

His rat-culture, because Kevin was a rat.

Maybe, disturbingly, Matt was right. He really should just sleep this off and try to deal with it all in the morning. It had to be really late in Philly now anyways.

Johnny checked his phone, just in case.

Still nothing from Kevin.

He winced. Maybe Kevin was asleep.

Grimacing, he decided to let himself send just one message.

_Goodnight. I'll call you in the morning. I love you._

He hoped that Kevin saw it, even if he was a rat. If rats could read.

It took Johnny a long time to settle down that night. And when he went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he maybe stared at his trash can with a little too much consideration.

Shaking his head in disgust, he forced himself to turn off the lights and go to bed. Everything would be better in the morning. It would have to be.

Johnny loved Kevin, and he knew that Kevin loved him. They'd work this out. They had to. They'd been together for way too long not to.

It would just be an adjustment. To get used to dating a rat.

Though if what Matt said was right, Johnny had always been dating a human-shaped rat.

Oh, fuck. Maybe he should have gotten something stronger than water.

~~~

Things were decidedly not better in the morning. For one, Johnny didn't have any new calls or texts from Kevin, despite the fact that Kevin was almost always awake before him due to the time difference.

Okay, that stung a little bit, especially when Johnny knew he had practice that morning and was undoubtedly awake. Unless his little rat paws hadn't been able to set the alarm on his phone.

Whatever. Johnny would just nut up and call him. It's what he'd said he'd do, after all, and he was going to be a man of his word.

He was going to be the best boyfriend a rat could have.

Kevin's phone going to voicemail yet again really took the wind out of his sails. But looking at the clock and doing quick math in his head, Kevin may have already been at the rink by then. That was fine. He'd been trying to make a good showing with his new teammates, really get to know everybody, get on the coaching staff's good side. It was good for him to go in early, especially with the preseason just about to begin.

Johnny waited for the beep.

"Hey, it's me. Give me a call when you get a chance? I want to talk about last night and, and what happened. Okay. I love you. Good luck today."

He flushed a little as he ended the call, embarrassed even though there was nobody to see it. He'd never been good at phone calls, even with Kevin, and he always ended up saying dumb things that made his ears burn afterwards. Kevin swore there was nothing weird about how Johnny spoke on the phone, but Kevin wasn't there to reassure him this time.

And he continued not to be there as Johnny went through all the right motions during the last day of camp. He should probably consider himself highly lucky that he was a fixture on the top line and that he could probably literally phone it in today and not get in that much trouble, because anyone else showing that severe a lack of attention at training camp would have been worried about their spot on the team.

It was bad enough that both Mony asked if he slept last night and Gio pulled him aside to know if there was something wrong at home. Everyone was giving him weird looks and gentle stick taps to the ass, expressing concern in the only way hockey players knew.

But then Matt cornered him in the showers, either completely oblivious or completely confident in the way that only a Tkachuk could be. After years of locker rooms, Johnny still yelped and put his hands over his dick, wet curls falling into his eyes.

Matt's own curls were sticking to his face, and he shoved them out of the way without a care, entirely unworried about exactly how wet and naked they both were or how many teammates were around them.

"Bad phone call this morning?" Matt asked. He reached around Johnny and took Johnny's shampoo off the ledge, pouring some into his hand and messily scrubbing it into his hair.

"No phone call," Johnny stuttered, wary of just how many eyes were on them now while he just stood there, dick in his hands and bare ass out to the world.

There was a difference between being naked around the guys and being _naked around the guys_, the difference being that on a normal day everyone was naked but not staring at each other. Johnny didn't do well with nudity and prying eyes. The first time he and Kevin ever had video sex, he'd been so self-conscious he'd barely been able to get it up until he'd been able to watch Kevin jerk off for a good five minutes, and that was after they'd been together for months. Just about one of the last things he had an interest in doing was being the center of attention in the showers.

Matt made a derisive noise and stuck his head under Johnny's showerhead, half-assedly rinsing his hair with one hand. "Oh man, did you mouse out?"

_Mouse out_, Johnny mouthed to himself, unsure if he was awed or horrified.

"Uh, no. I called, but he didn't pick up. So I left a voicemail."

Tentatively, he reached out and grabbed his shampoo. May as well actually wash up seeing as Matt didn't seem inclined to move any time soon.

"Oh, _weak_," Matt cheered, sounding far too entertained. "Tell Kevin he's a mouse for not answering you, that'll get him to answer real fast."

Johnny froze with his sudsy hand in his hair. One hand was still lingering near his dick, just for safety's sake. "Uh, I'm not looking to like, insult mouse-kind or something-"

"You can't, they're an insult to themselves already."

"...Okay. Well, I'm trying to get him to answer me, not upset him worse."

He yelped when Matt grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head under the water, roughly tousling Johnny's curls in what was apparently an attempt to help him rinse his hair. "You call him a mouse, he'll answer. He's gotta prove he's a real rat for you."

Answering was a little difficult when Matt was unintentionally waterboarding him, but Johnny hoped his splutters were informative enough.

He gasped when a big hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him out of the spray. Shoving his hair out of his eyes, he spied Gio wearing a grim smile, towel firmly wrapped around his waist and standing just out of the spray.

"Hey, Chucky, we don't drown our friends here," he said amiably. The season hadn't started yet, but he already had that exhausted captain look in his eyes. Johnny imagined Matt could bring that out in anyone.

But Matt, being Matt, smiled guilelessly. "A drowned rat is an _aesthetic_. I'm just welcoming him to the family."

Gio was unmoved. "Okay, well don't. Johnny, you good?"

He nodded, both hands sliding back down to cover his dick. Gio either didn't notice or more likely didn't care, patting Johnny's shoulder and taking his leave. Most of the team had left or was on their way out, seemingly far less interested once they realized that Matt was back on his bullshit again.

Crisis mostly averted, Johnny turned back to scrubbing himself down in the perfunctory manner they all had after skating. He only shrieked a little bit when Matt's mouth appeared next to his ear, whispering, "Call him a mouse."

He was cackling as he left, apparently not caring that Johnny nearly had a heart attack and could have slipped and fallen and _died_ in that shower.

Though to be fair, he should have just been happy that Matty hadn't slapped him on his bare ass. Maybe he'd been learning tact.

But he still most definitely did not call Kevin a rat when he got home. He called Kevin, to be sure, because he wasn't going to give up even if Kevin hadn't answered his voicemail or his texts. Giving up wouldn't show Kevin that he cared.

"Hey, uh, it's me again. Johnny. I just wanted to make sure you got my message earlier, and, uh, I'll be home the rest of today, so you can like. Call when you're free. Um, I'll be here. Okay. Love you."

He felt like a tool even as he spoke. Clearly Kevin just didn't want to answer him, but he couldn't resist the urge to leave a message, anything to calm the fluttering anxiety that had taken up residence in his chest, the same nerves that kept him pacing his apartment, hands in his hair, checking his phone every twenty seconds.

Kevin wasn't answering, but Kevin was also thousands of miles away. If Kevin didn't answer, that was effectively cutting off all of Johnny's contact with him. And that was Kevin's choice, because Johnny had fucked up.

Matt's advice was clearly right out – when Kevin already wasn't speaking to him, he couldn't imagine how calling him what was apparently some type of off-color insult was going to fix things.

Except...

His eyes followed the magnetic pull back to his trash can.

He was pretty sure there was still an orange peel in there, and an apple core, and some coffee grounds. And he had some sliced ham in his fridge that was still good, but it probably wouldn't be if he threw it in a box and shipped it to Philadelphia.

Of course, it would also smell so bad at that point that the postal workers might just throw it out and send him a strongly worded warning about mailing noxious materials.

It was absolutely disgusting to imagine it. Twenty-four hours ago he would have been horrified if someone had suggested it.

But like. Twenty-four hours ago his boyfriend wasn't a rat-man who wouldn't pick up the phone.

He probably had a box in his closet.

~~~

Johnny maybe had a bit of a meltdown that night when Kevin still hadn't called him back by bedtime. Like. He knew they both had their first preseason games tomorrow, but...they hadn't gone to bed without saying they loved each other in literal years.

But Kevin still wouldn't answer the phone.

"Um. Okay. I know you're, um, mad at me right now – and that's okay! I deserve it, because I was a jerk, and I shouldn't have pushed you, and I shouldn't have screamed, and I shouldn't have thrown my iPad. That was really mean of me. And I'm really, really sorry. And I know you don't want to talk to me but like. I just want you to know that I'm ready to talk whenever you are, and that I love you, and this doesn't change anything, okay? You're – you're my favorite rat! And, um, yeah. I'll be here. When you're ready. So you just take all the time you need. But like. Not too long? Just let me know you're okay. Okay. I'm gonna go now. I love you. Goodnight."

The sound the phone made when he dropped it on the sheets next to him was much softer than that of his iPad against the wall the night before, but the sound felt just as damning. Both meant Kevin wasn't speaking to him, after all.

But he'd said he was going to give Kevin the time and space he clearly needed, and he meant to stand by that, no matter how tight his chest got or how much his eyes burned. Kevin was the one hurting right now; Johnny freaking out wasn't going to help anybody.

So when he woke up in the morning with eyelashes tacky with dried tears and no missed calls or messages on his phone, he brutally shoved down that fervent animal clawing at his chest (_almost like a rat_) and told himself that all he could do right now was get ready for morning skate. The Flames had a split-squad playing their first preseason games tonight, and no matter what was going on at home, he had to be at his best just like everyone else.

He maybe avoided Matt a little bit at skate, which helped him stay on track, even if he could feel Matt's (beady little?) eyes on him the whole time. Hockey was one thing that always came easily to Johnny, no matter what was happening at home. It had been his escape, even when he was a kid trying to ignore his own teammates mocking his size or making jokes about gay guys. On the ice, nobody could touch him, and his work spoke for itself.

It worked, to a degree. He stepped into the dressing room and was able to go through his normal routines without a single thought outside of what he would have for his pre-game meal.

He made it all the way home before he realized he had two missed calls from Kevin, and a single text.

_Call me_.

If Johnny were a pettier person, he'd have made Kevin wait a little bit longer, taken his sweet time responding just so Kevin knew what it was liked to be ignored.

But Johnny wasn't petty so much as he was desperate and sad and anxious, and so he called Kevin before he could think too hard about why Kevin had chosen now to try to contact him, or what he might want to say.

He started pacing again as the phone rang, not because it had helped so much yesterday but because it was something to do.

This time, Kevin picked up on the second ring.

"You sent me trash."

His voice was panting, breathless, the way it got only immediately after a hard workout or a lot of sex. Johnny wasn't used to getting it on the phone when they hadn't already been having phone sex, and it made him lean back heavily against the counter in his kitchen, trying to mentally regroup.

Breathless wasn't necessarily _good_, but it wasn't _bad_ either.

"I, um..."

"You overnighted me your _garbage_," Kevin repeated. His voice was flat and painfully unreadable, and Johnny wished so dearly in that moment that he could see Kevin's face. He'd never had a problem reading Kevin's face.

That familiar scarlet flush was already crawling up Johnny's neck towards his cheeks.

"Um. Yes. Yes I did."

"You mailed me _rotting food scraps_."

He certainly didn't make it sound like a good thing.

"There's lint too!" Johnny said, feeling that familiar, awful fluttering kick up in his chest again. "You like that, right?"

"Johnny." He jolted at Kevin's deep, firm, no-nonsense tone. "You collected up your _literal garbage_ and _mailed it to me_."

God, he'd never felt so low in his life. Matt had made it sound like – well. That should have been his first clue, taking romantic advice from a Tkachuk.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have – I don't know what I was thinking. Matt suggested it, but it's not his fault, it's my fault for listening. I shouldn't have – I'm so sorry. I'll...I'll make up for it!" Maybe it was a good thing they weren't on video chat this time, because he didn't want Kevin to see how those same anxious tears were burning in his eyes again. "Just tell me what to do, I'll make it up to you. Please don't be mad."

One hand clutching the cool granite of the counter behind him, Johnny prepared himself for the worst, dozens of possible outcomes flashing behind his eyes, each one worse than the last. Matt would probably regret "welcoming him to the family" real soon, because he didn't see how this didn't result in Kevin breaking up with him.

"_Please_, Kev, I can – I'll..."

"John."

Johnny's mouth snapped shut with a _click_, just as it always would when Kevin pulled out the big guns like that.

He expected Kevin to be firm with him, but he didn't expect him to sound so _warm_.

"John," Kevin repeated, and his voice was a little strangled now, a little...choked up? "John, you sent me your actual fucking trash, from your trash can."

"Yes. I, uh..."

"John. That's the most romantic fucking thing anyone has ever done for me."

Johnny thought he was within his rights to make a slow, gentle slide down the cabinets to the floor, because there was no way he could have this conversation standing up anymore, not with the amount of emotional whiplash he was experiencing.

"You...it is?"

Kevin's laugh sounded watery, but like, in a good way.

"Nobody's ever sent me trash before. And it's like, it's _your_ trash, so I got a little piece of you here with me. And like, the fucking dryer lint?" He sounded breathless again, but this time, Johnny knew it was in a good way.

"I know you like that," Johnny said, finally feeling like he could exhale. The little ratlike creature in his chest was finally settling after days of worry.

"I fucking – I love it, oh my God. Babe, I don't deserve you at all, but I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure I do everything I can to try to earn it."

It was just – it was a lot, all of it, after the turmoil of the last few days. When Johnny laughed, it came out a little wet.

"I was so worried," he breathed, huddled up against the cabinets with his knees pulled to his chest. "You didn't – you didn't answer, and I was so, so scared."

He didn't like the pained sound that Kevin made, hated being the one to elicit it, but he felt a little better when Kevin said, "No, that's on me. I should have answered you the first time, and it's my fault for fucking mousing out."

Johnny paused. "Okay, is that like, a _thing_ then, or like-"

"I was just so worried, because – I listened to the voicemails and like, I knew you loved me. But I was always so afraid that when you found out about – me, that it would be too much. That you'd love me, but not enough for _that_. And I would have understood. But like. You spent over a hundred dollars to mail me your garbage."

"I did do that." Johnny wasn't entirely sure where this conversation was going, but he was starting to like it. "I just, um. I wanted you to know that I love you no matter what, and I want to like, support you and shit. Y'know?"

"You're supporting the fuck out of me," Kevin agreed, the breathless quality to his voice dipping into a growl. "And I'm gonna support the fuck out of you the minute I get my hands on you again. Repeatedly. On as many surfaces as possible."

Johnny may have struggled to get it up for video sex at first, but phone sex had always been easy, with Kevin's stupidly deep voice rumbling in his ear. "That would be good," he squeaked.

Apparently that really did it for Kevin, because he bit off a curse. "You're too fucking good to me. You're perfect. I'm gonna make you the best fucking nest."

"I like blankets," Johnny asserted. He was pretty sure Kevin knew that, but he just wanted to head off any, like, extra newspapers or something. "And, um, your clothes?"

He didn't mean to keep trailing off into high-pitched questions, but Kevin's groan said that was somehow a good thing. "Fuck, babe, I'm supposed to be napping right now. _Fuck_. Tonight, okay? I'll make it up to you tonight."

"I mean, we could probably just call it even for bad behavior right now-"

"Johnny." Kevin said his name fondly all the time, and yet somehow this time, it struck him like a blow to the chest. "Baby, you sent me your own garbage. I'm gonna be making up for that for months, and I'm gonna love every moment of it. I'll call you tonight, okay? I love you."

"Love you," Johnny replied automatically. He almost didn't notice when the call disconnected, letting his head thump back against the cabinets and pressing his phone to his chest. _Fuck_, but that had been a turnaround he wasn't prepared for.

He eyed his trash can, sitting innocently across the kitchen, and wondered if maybe he'd said a little bit more than he'd realized.

~~~

"So, um, how do we do this?" Johnny shifted uneasily, trying not to wince at the sound of paper crackling underneath him.

Kevin had taken it to heart that Johnny really did prefer his nests to mostly be made of fabric materials and not, y'know, literal garbage. As soon as he'd followed Johnny into his apartment, Johnny had been all but forgotten as Kevin had scoped the place out like he hadn't been there dozens of times. He'd then stripped Johnny's bed and starting making something large and unholy in the middle of the living room floor.

It looked okay on the surface. It had pillows and blankets, and as promised, Kevin brought a bag full of his sweatshirts and flannel pants (Johnny wasted no time absconding with a few of those for a rainy day). Johnny had hoped that he'd be able to keep anything..._extra_ from getting added, but it had been so cute to watch Kevin pace around the apartment, snatching up things and kind of...scurrying back to the nest to carefully slide them into place. Even if that did end up including newspapers and tissue paper that Johnny absolutely had not owned, and shredded up bits of paper towels that he may never be able to fully clean up.

His one small blessing was that he'd been able to snatch the package of toilet paper out of Kevin's hands before Kevin had been able to rip that up too. Kevin had looked so betrayed, stunned that Johnny would intervene, mouth hanging open in the sort of pout that Johnny would usually give him shit for.

He was going to, for sure, except then he'd placed into Kevin's hands the pile of lint he'd been collecting for the past few weeks and Kevin had looked like he was going to cry right then and there.

"That one's not, like, a proposal either, right?" he'd asked carefully. One thing he'd learned in the past few weeks of his rat-people crash course was that sometimes rat-gifts could mean absolutely nothing, and sometimes the exact same gift might be a declaration of love or a marriage proposal and you really had no way of knowing without the "context," which turned out to be a handwavey expression that Matt had boiled down to, "when you know, you know."

And Johnny had learned that he never knew, and so he'd found that asking was the best option.

"It's not, but it could be." Kevin winked and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Johnny's mouth before immediately turning back to the nest, carefully separating the lint ball and pressing pieces of it in between layers of paper and fabric as if he could tell exactly where insulation was needed.

Johnny tried not to wince too obviously at the dust floating peacefully through the air with each new shred of lint.

And now he'd been shoved into the middle of the nest, fidgeting with the overly-long sleeves of the old Rangers hoodie he'd stolen from Kevin's bag. Kevin was in the process of "checking over" the nest, which mostly meant ripping up more paper towels.

He hummed in response to Johnny's question and, after a moment of consideration, tucked a few scraps of paper towel in the front pocket of the hoodie Johnny was wearing. His pupils were huge and intense, a look that Johnny had quickly learned meant that his instincts were out in full force.

God, he didn't know how he'd missed it for so long. Kevin insisted he hadn't been, like, holding back or restricting himself or anything, but everything he did was just so much _more_ now. He had a feeling that this was what people meant about "living your best life" and all of that, like, being true to yourself.

Because he didn't think Kevin had been unhappy before, but he'd never seen him this bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Or as the case was, dark-eyed and rat-tailed.

Kevin, it turned out, was a closet romantic. Which wasn't actually that surprising to Johnny because Kevin always pretended to be chill and the ultimate bro, but he was always the one who remembered "important" dates like the first time they held hands, and the first time they "kissed for real," and he was always sending Johnny things throughout the season – normal things, like cards and chocolate and one time, flowers which Johnny had killed almost immediately, little knick-knacks and things he found that reminded him of Johnny.

But apparently, there was a romantic rat-side that Johnny was only just now meeting. Johnny and Kevin said they loved each other every day, so he hadn't quite foreseen the impact that his gift of garbage would have. Because it had been little rat-pup Kevin's dearest dream to one day have somebody gift him their very own rotting food scraps, a dream that he'd resigned himself to never having fulfilled when he hitched his star to a human boyfriend.

"You really are a dream come true," Kevin had said, painfully sincere and that same dark look in his eyes.

Johnny was mostly worried about Kevin getting food poisoning, but apparently he was excellent at wooing rodents now.

Kevin, for his part, had apparently been satisfying his need to give Johnny found "treasures" by gifting him things that he'd found in secondhand shops. Not that Johnny had ever picked up on it, or really cared where anything came from, but apparently the collecting-thing meant a lot when it came to gift-giving.

The more embarrassing part was learning that he was dating the type of person who walked around on trash night checking out what his neighbors were throwing out and "rescuing" the choicest finds.

"It's not illegal if they're throwing it out!" Kevin had insisted with that ridiculous pout.

"Oh my God, I'm dating my grandfather," Johnny breathed in horror.

It _would_ explain where Kevin had found so many bedraggled-looking fake plants, though.

Johnny's crash course in were-rat husbandry had led them to this point, Kevin putting the finishing touches on his nest, nodding in satisfaction, and then immediately starting to disrobe. Johnny's heart was pounding with anticipatory anxiety, but at least this time it was a mostly-good way and he could appreciate the breadth of Kevin's shoulders appropriately.

"Oh, so...now?" He couldn't help the way his voice thinned out into a squeak at the end, trying so hard to tamp down on his nerves and doing a piss-poor job of it.

He was expecting Kevin to tease him for it, even just gently. He wasn't expecting Kevin to just...shudder for a moment, eyes falling closed.

"Uh...Kev?"

Kevin shook himself, and when his eyes opened again, they were so, so dark.

"Don't go making promises you can't keep, babe." He smirked. And then, because he was actually a good boyfriend, he explained, "I told you, right? What that does to me?"

Johnny made a face. "Me being anxious?"

"No, the – the squeaking."

That godawful flush was climbing his throat again, burning hot with embarrassment. "Um, I'm sorry?" He immediately winced at how high his voice got.

Kevin grumbled in the back of his throat. "I know it's just because you're anxious or upset, but when people's voice get high or shrill, to a rat it's like...excited squeaking."

"Excited like..." Johnny's mouth formed a perfect _o_ of surprise as it clicked.

Kevin smirked again and kissed his cheek. "Like _excited_. I know you can't help it, but just keep in mind babe, don't go making promises you can't keep right now."

"We'll come back to it later," Johnny said with a fervent nod, mind racing with a sudden understanding for just why Kevin liked to make him be loud in bed.

He received another kiss for that, chaste but to his lips this time. "Good man. Okay, I'm gonna shift, alright?"

Kevin's eyes may have been much darker than their normal blue with his pupils so wide, but they were sincere as he waited for Johnny to nod. He pressed their foreheads together, just for a moment, and then he knelt back on the nest in front of Johnny.

Considering how fast it happened before, Johnny didn't know why he was waiting for like, a sign or a trigger or something. One moment Kevin was kneeling in front of him, naked but otherwise totally normal, and the next he'd melted into that oversized rat Johnny had last seen before breaking his iPad.

He looked like...a rat. A big one, to be sure, because Kevin had to be proportional even as a rat. (He'd taken a smug moment to explain why rats specifically _weren't_ proportional in a certain department and Johnny was so embarrassed he still couldn't think about it too hard.)

But he was mostly just a rat. Long, skinny tail that was mildly perturbing. Smooth brown fur, twitching whiskers, making quiet little squeaking sounds as he stared up at Johnny with black, beady eyes.

Slowly, Kevin-the-rat, or apparently just Kevin, put one small paw on Johnny's knee. He squeaked again, and then he waited.

It was Johnny's move now.

Only shaking a little bit, he stroked a careful hand over Kevin's back. Kevin arched into it, tossing his head so that he could follow Johnny's hand with his nose. He sniffed for a moment and let out a loud squeak, craning his neck to press closer to Johnny's palm, rubbing his chin and ears against it and squeaking repeatedly. It tickled a little, but mostly Kevin just felt soft. A little delicate in a way that Johnny definitely wasn't used to, but...cute.

He couldn't help the giggle that burst from his chest when Kevin's tiny rat tongue shot out and licked the pads of his fingers.

"I don't think rats are supposed to lick people," he said. Kevin squeaked loudly as if to protest.

"Could I, um. Can I pick you up?"

Johnny wasn't sure what an enthusiastic rat was supposed to look like, but he imagined it was likely something like Kevin right now, squealing loud and repetitive like an alarm was going off and that alarm was telling Johnny that his rat needed cuddles.

It wasn't that different from scooping up a cat, Johnny figured, once he'd hefted Kevin into his arms. A larger cat, to be sure, but otherwise it was all pretty much the same. Kevin was warm in his arms and wriggled around excitedly, rubbing himself up against any part of Johnny he could reach. It was probably some sort of scent-thing, he was sure.

...surely the whole trash-association would wash off once human-Kevin showered, right? It must have.

Kevin squeaked plaintively, squirming to catch Johnny's attention. He had somehow flopped around until he was on his back in the crook of one of Johnny's arms, little rat legs sticking up in the air. It was like Johnny was holding a large, furred, trash-loving infant.

Which was to say, ridiculously charming.

It only got worse when Johnny ran careful fingers along Kevin's neck down to his stomach. Vague words floated to the top of his memory, sounding disturbingly like Matthew Tkachuk, saying something about rubbing a rat's belly. Gently, trying not to poke, he rubbed two fingers over Kevin's stomach.

Kevin's squeal was loud enough to startle Johnny, who thankfully managed not to drop him. It was a short drop to Johnny's lap, but it was the principle of the thing, after all. Bad form to drop your boyfriend and all that.

But Kevin was unbothered as he wrapped his tiny rat limbs around Johnny's hand and pressed it to his stomach, trapping it there. He squeaked and squirmed again, looking as smug as Johnny imagined a rat could.

Maybe Johnny didn't really get it, the trash thing, or the weird appetites, or the nests or the chirping or the other "rat-like qualities" that Kevin and Matt had told him so much about in the past month. Maybe he was just doing his best to follow along, because he loved Kevin a lot and he wanted to be as supportive as he possibly could, however Kevin needed him.

But that moment right there, arm aching from trying to cradle an absolutely gigantic rat, giving belly rubs to said rat and watching it squeak in delight, and also that rat was his NHL player boyfriend...Johnny felt like maybe he was starting to get it.

He could really do this whole rat-thing. Because this, right here?

This was really, really batshit crazy balls-to-the-wall motherfucking insane.

But it was also kind of perfect.

~~~

Jake honestly didn't know what he'd done to deserve this. Like, he was an asshole, to be sure, but plenty of guys in the league were assholes. That didn't mean that they were all dealing with bullshit like that.

Or at least, he was pretty sure they weren't.

He'd never heard of anybody else being mailed maggot-filled pizza by a guy from a rival team.

It said something, that he knew to open the box over his sink, just in case something unexpected came out.

It said that this had happened way too many fucking times.

He didn't know why it was happening. It was the sort of shit that nobody else would ever believe if he told them, and maybe that's exactly why it was happening. Make fun of the guy who was already having problems producing, send him disgusting shit in the mail, make him feel crazy for it?

Nobody would believe that the superstar of the Calgary Flames was mailing him rotting food on a regular basis, after all.

Jake was pretty sure he'd never spoken to Matthew Tkachuk off the ice, like in-person. Oh, he was sure they'd gotten into it before, yelling all manner of colorful insults and curses at each other, shoving each other around but avoiding a roughing call. That was part of a regional rivalry, and also part of being Jake Virtanen and Matthew Tkachuk. That was Jake's interaction with half of the league.

Matthew Tkachuk was the only one who followed it up with maggots and mold.

Jake still didn't know how Tkachuk had gotten his address, or his phone number, for that matter. But ever since Tkachuk had called to ask him if he liked that first "gift," they'd gotten into a disgusting, shitty routine. And watching a stray maggot crawl across a piece of pizza that smelled so vulgar just opening the box made Jake violently nauseous, Jake knew he was going to fall right back into the cycle.

He'd refused to add Tkachuk to his contacts, but he'd called the number often enough it was still near the top of his call log.

He couldn't wait for a greeting before shrieking, "The fuck is wrong with you, you fucking psycho?"

The worst part was that he could hear the sleazy grin in Tkachuk's voice. "Yeah, baby, you like that?"

It was dumb to keep engaging with him – it was dumb to even open the fucking package, let alone _respond_ – but Jake could feel his blood pressure going up and his face getting hot and yep, he was going right back down the rabbit hole again.

"You're sick," he hissed, voice cracking, "You're fucking sick, and you're lucky I haven't reported you to someone yet." He wasn't sure who he'd report it to, but the league had enough personnel, there had to be somebody whose job it was to deal with something like this.

His eyes flew wide when Tkachuk groaned. "C'mon, baby, don't tease me like that. I sent you the best I got!"

"What the fuck!" he yelped.

"Mmm, I know you're needy," Tkachuk said, sounding so fucking smug. "Don't worry, I'll get you more. You know I got what you need."

"What you need is fucking therapy! Stop sending me shit, like literal fucking shit, and stop calling me, and stop – just stop!" Jake clenched a fist at his side and paced away from his sink, anywhere to get away from that smell. He'd have to air his apartment out all night to get rid of it, even once he'd gotten rid of the package.

"Aw, honey, don't be like that!" Tkachuk whined. "It's good, right? It's got the maggots and everything!"

"_Why the fuck are you sending me maggots?_"

The noise Tkachuk made sounded offended. "Well I'm not going to _not_ send you maggots, I'm a fucking gentleman. I know how to woo a guy. Besides, you sound like you're enjoying yourself plenty."

There was something lascivious about his voice there, and more than just the rotten pizza was making Jake want to puke then.

"I'm going to kill you," he seethed. "Don't fucking call me again."

He hung up before Tkachuk could respond, because he knew where it would go. They had the same circular shrieking match – on Jake's side, at least – every time this happened, and it never ended until Jake smartened up and ended the call.

That still didn't stop Tkachuk from texting him immediately afterwards. _Don't have too much fun without me babe ;)_

Jake googled if Lysol could remove impure memories, or if he'd be needing bleach for that too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you also have no shame or moral scruples, I'm [swedishgoaliemafia](https://swedishgoaliemafia.tumblr.com/).


End file.
